


Making the Cut With a Squeeze of Lemon

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Buzz gets a boo-boo, Chief Carlton Lassie-Pants, Gen, Mention of Juliet and Shawn in passing, Minor whump, Missing Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: Answering the challenge in the Itty Bitty Mini Whump Fic Game thread.Challenge conditions:Whump Tool: LemonLocation: SBPD Station/Chief's officeRecipient: Buzz





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This takes place after the series ends, so be aware of spoilers for basically all of season 8.

 

 

 

 

Chief Lassiter had worked fast to decorate _his_ new office to fit his tastes. New desk, new chair _"Not too soft, McNab. You let yourself get too comfortable - next thing you know, you're pulling traffic duty three days before mandatory retirement"_. The wall art involved a lot of dusty Western scenes. In contrast, though, the photos on the desk were filled with pictures of his wife and daughter. Lily would be turned one in a month, and the collection of photos documented her growth from newborn to almost toddler.

 

Ordinarily, McNab wouldn't be in the Chief's office at 2pm. Certainly not on refreshment duty. Not anymore. Since making detective, McNab had, for the most part, no longer been required to fetch coffee or buy donuts. Of course, he didn't actually mind. He liked to do his part to keep the station happy and functional - even if it was as simple as keeping a fresh pot always at the ready.

 

Today, though, was different. Today was Lassiter's birthday. And, while the man had always hated celebrations, even he couldn't deny that it was nice to be remembered.

 

After a little covert work from his fellow officers, Buzz had determined that the Chief would be out for at least 10 minutes. Just enough time to bring in the cake Mrs. Lassiter had baked the night before.

 

Not a flavor combination that he would have pegged as the Chief's favorite, Buzz kept an eye out for his superior as he eased the pastry, along with a large bag of presents, through the office door and to their final resting place, smack in the center of Lassiter's desk.

 

The bright yellow frosting was decorated with tiny sugar handcuffs and guns. McNab had to give Mrs. Lassiter credit - she knew her way around sugar! Despite questioning his Chief's tastes, the scent of lemon and basil made for a mouthwatering smell.

 

Arranging the cake to place the little sugar Glock at the front, Buzz next dug out the flat package from his inside jacket pocket - a special gift from himself and Brannigan. A silent thank you to Head Detective O'Hara who had been invaluable in setting up this acknowledgment. No mint, no party, no singing, no surprises. Well, he realized he was breaking that last one just a little, but nobody would be leaping from the corners so they should reasonably avoid any deaths. The last detail was to add the remaining gifts: a gift card to Flying Tiger Tactical (a group gift from the officers of the SBPD), a stress toy from Shawn Spencer in the shape of a trout (it had taken Buzz a moment to catch the reference), a coupon for free fries with the purchase of any sandwich from Arby's from Gus (Buzz was still working out that one), and a blown glass marlin from Chief Vick that looked similar to the fish that used to occupy the office. The final gift was from Head Detective O'Hara. Unlike the other gifts, this one was wrapped in blue paper with a pink bow. Arranging everything neatly, Buzz had only a moment to step back and admire before he heard the hard snap of his Chief's shoes clapping across the marble floor.

 

“McNab!”

 

Buzz straightened up, moving out from behind the desk and holding his hands at his sides.

 

“Welcome back, sir!”

 

Lassiter slowed upon reaching the office door – eyes scanning all parts of the room before even entering. “What is this?” His back was stiff and everything about his posture was on edge. Once more, Buzz gave a huge internal thank you for the warning about surprises.

 

“On behalf of the SBPD, I'm here to say happy birthday, Chief Lassiter!” Stepping aside, Buzz revealed the cake and gifts.

 

No specific look of delight, though he'd been appraised of that likelihood. Knowing the first move towards enticement, Buzz gestured towards the cake first and foremost.

 

“Look, sir, your favorite! Lemon cake with a lemon and basil gelée!”

 

The suspicion lifted just a bit as the Chief fully entered his office. “Did my wife bake that?”

 

Nodding, Buzz moved back behind the desk and grabbed the knife resting beside the plate. “Here, let me cut you a slice!”

 

“No, Buzz, I don't...”

 

Trying to step aside as the Chief reached forward, Buzz yelped as the sharp blade fumbled from his fingers and dragged across his palm on its way to the floor. Grasping the injury, he grunted at the awful sting as the move inadvertently mashed lemon frosting into the wound.

 

Lassiter cursed as he hurried around the desk. “Damn it McNab! Here, let me see it-”

 

“No – no, it's okay, sir! Please, enjoy your cake. I'll just go get a towel...” Blood was welling between his fingers and starting to patter on the floor.

 

“You will not drip blood across my station!” Both hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him down into the not too cushy chair. “Just sit before you pass out!” Snatching a wad of purple napkins, Lassiter gently pulled Buzz's gripping fingers away from the gash. Buzz held rock still, though the light exam did nothing to remove the clenching pain.

 

“Not too deep but it may still need stitches.” Pressing the napkins against the wound, Lassiter straightened and held out a hand. “Come on, I'll drive you.”

 

Resistant, McNab shook his head. “Oh, it's okay. I don't want your cake to dry out and you should enjoy your birth-”

 

One hand grasping his upper arm, Lassiter pulled Buzz along with him. “And, what, you planning to drive yourself? Let's go.” As they moved past the desk, Buzz managed to get his fingers around one item – unbeknownst to his superior.

 

~*~

 

Lassiter had been right. Buzz needed three stitches to close the gash in his palm. Thankfully it hadn't affected any tendons and he'd only need about a week of light duty before he'd be ready for the field again.

 

After hanging up with Brannigan, who had been called in to cover things on her day off, Lassiter returned to the exam room where the doctor was just finishing up.

 

“Ready to go?”

 

Hunching up a shoulder, Buzz scraped one heel against the floor. “I'm so sorry, sir. That was clumsy and you could have been injured.”

 

Resisting a check of the time, Lassiter shook his head. “You dropped a knife. It happens, McNab.”

 

Again moving towards the door, Lassiter was once more stopped by the soft “sir?” at his back.

 

Swallowing back his shame, Buzz held out a package. Not the one from Brannigan and himself – a CD of Waylon Jennings' greatest hits – but the gift in blue and pink.

 

“It's from Head Detective O'Hara.”

 

O'Hara. Lassiter hadn't seen her in nearly three months. Between their work schedules and conflicting days off, he'd barely had an opportunity to speak with her on the phone. The absence of his former partner came back to him once more. Sharp as a knife across the hand.

 

They could take a few more minutes.

 

Tearing free one edge, he peeled away the paper to find the simple box – taped shut on the sides. Rolling his eyes at the excessive package security, Lassiter juggled the paper wad and box as he popped the tape and lifted the flaps – along with a cloud of yellow tissue. “The hell with all the primary colors...?”

 

Inside was a rattle.

 

“What is...?” Lifting it out, he spotted the small strip of paper dangling from the handle. On it was a hand written note.

 

“ _Happy birthday to my future Godfather. Love, Starfish Spencer.”_

 

Something choked up in his throat as he blinked at the rattle. “I'm... I'm gonna be a godfather...”

 

McNab stood close by – his face spreading in a wide grin. “Wow! Congratulations!”

 

Dropping the rattle back into its box, Lassiter grinned as well. He nodded as he waited for his voice to come back under control. Scratching at an “itch” on his nose, he swept one finger beneath his lashes.

 

“Happy birthday, sir.”

 

Finally giving in to the tiny wobble in his throat, Lassiter clapped a hand on McNab's shoulder. “Thank you, Buzz.”

 

  
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at <http://www.psychfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=4451>


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